


Journey to the Seaside

by asparagusmama



Series: The Molly Hathaway-Lewis futurefic kidfic collection [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Futurefic, Kidfic, M/M, Paddling, Shopping, bacon and beans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dad and Daddy jouney to the seaside with a bored Molly.</p><p>Follows immediately on from 'Just Another Thursday'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journey to the Seaside

**Author's Note:**

> Contains the odd mild swear word!

After over an hour of stressful packing and an hour of driving, Robbie Lewis was yawning fiercely. He glanced over at James, who was asleep. Molly too was also asleep, sucking on the hand of her battered rag doll, Rosie, with her new, expensive, large hand crafted rag doll, Daffodil, fallen off her lap on to the seat beside her booster seat.

Robbie decided to pull into the next service station he came to so he could join them in sleep. Okay, so they wouldn’t make the beach by sunrise, but he was so shattered.

*

Robbie was awoken by a loud knocking on his windscreen. His eyes snapped open. A young uniformed officer was banging on the window, another standing by the passenger door. Robbie glanced at James, who was looking just as bemused and as sleepy as he probably did. Unspoken thoughts crossed between them as in unison they looked behind at Molly, still mercifully asleep, and then back at each other. They both, as one, unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the car. Robbie watched James’ hand creep to his jeans pocket, checking for his warrant card.

“Can I help you?” Robbie asked.

“Just a few routine questions Sir. Nothing to worry about.”

“Fine. No problem.”

“What questions?” James asked, with what could have been interpreted as an attitude problem rather than one that demanded respect as a senior CID officer.

The officer moved to stand behind James, glaring at him, as the other, then the one speaking, also gave him a warning look and demanded, “Is this your vehicle Sir?”

“It’s mine,” Robbie replied. “Ours, really. Although James has a – er – company car.”

“Can you prove this?”

“Documents all in the glove compartment.”

The other officer had walked to the back door and was peering at Molly through the window.

“And what is the relationship of this child to you?” he demanded.

“She’s our daughter,” James said quickly.

“Adopted daughter,” Robbie clarified.

“So, you’re a couple, are you sirs?” And you expect us to believe that...”

The other officer glared at his colleague and his obvious prejudice, either homophobia or agism, he couldn’t decide. They’d not worked together long. However, meaning the child, he demanded, “Can you prove this?”

“Well, I don’t exactly carry her birth and adoption certificate, nor our civil partnership one, with us, so no, I can’t.” Robbie scowled at them, “What is going on? Molly is certainly our daughter.”

“Could you give us your names, please Sirs. And your address. We are going to need someone to vouch that you are who you say and have adopted the girl.”

“I’m DS James Hathaway,” James said, producing his warrant card from his jeans pocket. “In fact DI Hathaway as soon as I return to work on Tuesday. This is DI Robert Lewis, retired. Thames Valley CID would be happy to verify all the facts. Be sure to ask for Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent at St. Algate’s Station in Oxford will you? The sleeping child in Molly Hathaway-Lewis, and since you seen to be so snippy about Robbie’s age, I’ll tell you that she is biologically his grandchild. We don’t feel she is ready to know the details about the circumstances of the adoption and her parents so don’t mention it again.

“Now, will you tell me what is this all about?”

The officer near James took the card and examined it before passing it to his colleague. While he examined it slowly and carefully, as if it might be counterfeit, Robbie supplied their address, adding,

“We’ve nothing to hide. Now, do you mind telling us what this is all about?”

“I’m sorry Inspector. Inspectors. We’ve had reports of a child kidnapped earlier this morning, from a village just outside Winchester. An APB has been issued to all cars over four counties. A mixed race child, IC 3 to 4, female, around three years old. The concern is its natural father is trying to get her out of the country by ferry to then take a flight from Pakistan from France.”

“Molly’s one quarter Australian Aboriginal, not IC 3 or 4, so probably IC 0,” Robbie said aggressively, “so definitely not Asian. Look at her hair, man.” He rolled his eyes at James, who recognised the expression from years as his sergeant. It said ‘there is a reason why some officers just aren’t CID material’.

“We are really sorry to have bothered you both,” the officer said, retreating, followed by his partner.

“It’s alright, you were just doing your job,” James said diplomatically, with a ‘cool it’ look to his husband.

“No worries,” Robbie said falsely, giving an empty smile.

They turned to look at Molly who was staring at them, wide awake, her face as black as thunder with anger, but so far she had been silent, luckily. They wearily climbed back into the car. So much for naps! As they did so James heard one officer say to the other as they got into their panda car, 

“Must be a more liberal, chilled station, Oxford, imagine being out and married and officers at ours?”

*

“Are you working Daddy?” Molly demanded, arms folded, once they were in the car.

“Nope. They just wanted to check you were our little girl.”

“Why?”

“Um...”

“They’re checking all little girls today pet.”

“Is it against the law to be a little girl today?” Molly panicked.

“No!” James and Robbie looked at each other. “Somebody’s little girl went missing in the night. They’re trying to find her,” James explained as Robbie took in a deep breath, watching Molly with concern.

“She probably got bored and they forget to lock the door,” Molly said – this had happened more than once, but having a big climbing frame plus Wendy house in the back garden, Molly hadn’t gone far. “Did they look in the garden? Or a play park if she doesn’t have a garden? Ellie doesn’t have a garden and Rebecca’s Dad grows vegetables in hers and she’s not got anywhere to play in it.”

“I don’t know,” James said. “but that’s good thinking Molly.”

“Tell them then.”

“Can’t. It’s not our constabulary.”

“What’s constabingtory?”

“Area of police. It’s a difference police to us. We’re a long way from home, Molly.”

“We’re on holiday pet, remember?”

“Seaside! Seaside! Seaside! Are we there then?”

“Not yet.”

“When?”

“About um, an... hour?” James replied, looking hopefully at Robbie.

“Bit more, I’m afraid, to our caravan park.”

“Well, I’m starved. Hungry Molly?”

Molly nodded. “And I think I need a wee wee,” she whispered seriously.

*

“Oh no!” James muttered once they got to the toilets.

“What?” asked Robbie, Molly holding his hand, trailing, her other hand between her legs as she hopped from one foot to the other.

James nodded to the one parent and child room outside the Ladies, locked with a large Out of Order side on the door. “And the disabled one is locked too,” he added.

Robbie picked up Molly and handed her to James. “It’s at times like this you need a whatsjacallit doodah.”

“What? Oh, Radar key, well, yes. We could find a member of staff and ask...”

“Need wee wee now!” Molly wailed

“Could you check...?” James said sounding quite desperate himself as Molly was wailing in his ear. He nodded towards the Gents.

Robbie went into the Gents and emerged again a few moments later. He could hear Molly even in the Gents, a loud, plaintive wail of, “Need wee wee, need wee wee, need wee wee...”

“Clean and empty,” Robbie said. James nodded and went in carrying Molly and ignoring her demanding questioning he took her straight into a cubicle.

“But what is it?” she demanded again, high and loud, over heard by a young truck driver who had followed them in.

“It’s a urinal Molly. For men to do a wee at.”

“Want to do my wee wee there.”

“You can’t.”

“Want to!”

“Come on Molly, let Daddy help you on to the toilet seat.”

“Not sitting. Want to stand. Like you and Dad.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“Why?”

“Well... um... boys and girls, men and women, they’re made differently...”

“Not fair. Doing it standing up.”

“Molly!” James sounded panicked as Molly lifted her dress, pushing down her knickers and faced the toilet. And went.

Sometimes one has to experiment. All toddlers know that, they are all natural scientists when it comes to testing anything out for themselves. Normally, however, the results of the experiment tend to be the adult was, in fact, telling the truth.

“Urgh! Urgh! Urgh! Wee wee on my shoes and everything!” Everything being the floor, dress, socks, sandals and knickers along with James’ trainers and the bottoms of his jeans.

“Yes, I know. I did tell you. Um... stay here, I’ll get Dad.” James opened the door, saw a young man washing his hands and shut the door again, panicked. “No, don’t stay there... Daddy will...”

“Sounds like you got your hands full there mate,” the man called.

“Um, yes. You couldn’t do me a favour, could you? Please?” James opened the door again. Molly had pulled off all her wet clothes and was standing on the toilet seat shouting,

“Wet! Wet! Wet...”

“Er, sure. What?”

“My partner, Robbie, is outside. Could you ask him to fetch Molly clean clothes? Everything? Please?”

The man chucked. “Sure. What’s he look like then?”

“Early sixties, dark hair going grey, blue eyes. He’s wearing a pale blue polo shirt and jeans.”

“Sure thing. Glad my two aren’t so lively.”

*

“Are you Robbie?”

“Er, yeah...?”

“Your boyfriend needs some help. Your little girl’s a bit wet. He asked me to ask you to get her clean clothes and shoes, but I reckon he could do with clean jeans and shoes too, but he didn’t say. You’ve got a real handful, mate, no mistake.”

Robbie sighed. “Tell me about it.”

*

Half an hour an later, Molly newly attired in a red dress and her jelly sandals, James in his denim cut offs and flip flops, saw them queuing in the services food court for breakfast. It was now brilliant sunshine outside and Molly was angry because her fathers had promised a sunrise over the sea.

“But we went to sleep,” Robbie repeated yet again, despairing.

“Molly, hush. S’sh. We’re talk about it later,” James said quickly. “Now – look cute!” he added, mystifying Robbie. He looked at James, and then at Molly, bemused. Molly had assumed an angelic look.

“Excuse me,” James said politely to the girl serving.

“Yeah?”

“Could you tell me what is gluten and dairy free on your breakfast menu?”

“You what?”

“Gluten free and dairy free. For instance, do you fry your mushrooms in oil or butter? Do you know what brand of baked beans you use? Some are safe and some aren’t.”

“Um... um... I’ll get my boss.” The girl, panicked, fled to the kitchen.

A few moments later she returned and served the couple behind them in the queue while a much larger lady lumbered out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth.

“Alright pet? What you after them?”

Robbie grinned at a fellow Geordie down south. He pointed to James.

“I wanted to know what is gluten free and dairy free on your breakfast menu. Molly is allowed neither.”

“Aw, that’s tough, isn’t it love? What do you fancy?”

“Baking beans?” asked Molly hopefully, keeping her angelic face firmly in place.

“The baked beans are Heinz, which are okay as far as I know.”

James nodded. “They are,” he said.

“We do our mushrooms in butter, and there is butter and milk in the scrambled eggs, but the fried and poached are okay...”

“Slimy!” Molly interjected, forgetting to be ‘cute’. “Slimy slimy slimy...”

“She doesn’t like eggs and obviously the sausages and veggie sausages have gluten, but what about the hash browns?”

“Sorry, both gluten and milk there. The bacon’s done in oil.”

“Bacon and beans, bacon and beans, bacon and beans...”

“Thank you,” James said talking over Molly, smiling at the chef. “Right, that’s one child’s portion of bacon and beans, no toast, obviously, one full English and one scrambled eggs, beans and toast. Thank you again for your time.”

“T’ank you,” said Molly solemnly.

“My pleasure pet. It’s not fair being not allowed things, is it?”

“Not fair,” agreed Molly.

“But it’s better than having a poorly tummy. I’m a coeliac myself.”

“Do I get a poorly tummy?” Molly demanded. “I thought I turned into a monster?”

“Both,” Robbie said hurriedly, glancing away as James glared at him. James sighed and went off to fetch one pot of tea and one coffee.

*

Once they had found a table at the window seat and Molly sat happily, swinging her legs, watching the cars on the motorway, James got up.

“Where you going now?”

“Starbucks. To get Molly a steamed soya milk.”

“Sit down. Juice is fine.”

“Want carmininal in it,” Molly said.

“Okay,” James said.

“Sit down James. You spoil her!”

“Want frothy carmininal milk!”

“Daddy’s going darling.”

“Daddy is not going. Sit down and eat your breakfast. Now.”

Startled by his husband’s anger, James sat. “We’ll get one to go, okay?” he said to Molly.

“Want...” Molly began, taking a deep breath to scream it out.

Robbie stared at her sternly, “Want doesn’t get young lady. Daddy must finish his breakfast before he can get down from the table.”

Molly grinned and kicked James under the table.

“Daddy’s in trouble,” James said gloomily.

“It’s alright. Dad didn’t believe me about the Mars Bars Daddy,” Molly said kindly. Robbie glared at James.

“They weren’t Mars Bars,” he muttered sulkily and shoved a forkful of scrambled egg in his mouth.

*

“They were not Mars Bars,” James repeated as Robbie handed him the car keys.

“Were!” Molly shouted as Robbie strapped her in.

“They were very special pretend Mars Bars Molly,” James said.

“They were real! They were! Not pretend! I ate them! Not pretend!” Molly started to yell and kick her legs, pulling at the seat belt and arching her back.

“Molly, Molly, Molly, s’sh. Please let Daddy explain...”

“Calm down Molly pet, please...”

Molly was rocking her booster seat and banging the back of her head now. Families and couples were staring at them in the car park. James got into the back and sat next to her, trying to hold her, but she screamed as if he had hit her. Robbie got in the other side and undid the seat belt and also tried to comfort her. She screamed even more loudly and hit him.

Eventually Molly had calmed down enough to just rock and clutch her head. Then she climbed out of the booster and slipped down to the foot well and curled up into a ball. James climbed out of the car, feeling like banging his head or pulling his hair himself. It was at times like this he badly missed smoking.

Robbie, meanwhile, sat where he was, quietly waiting patiently. Sometimes it had worked with a suspect, it had always worked with Morse and very, very occasionally with James – although James was hardly ever forthcoming, however patiently he waited. Molly frequently reminded him of James, even though she was genetically related to him not James.

“Staying here,” Molly muttered eventually.

“Well, that’s very sad. And boring. We shall have to have our holiday in this car park. It’s against the law to drive unless everyone has seat belts on and little children are in their car seats. Do you understand Molly?”

“Boring. Against the law. Boring.”

“Yes. And we won’t get to go to the seaside.”

Molly looked up, raising her head from where she’d been hiding her face, tucked between her knees.

“Seaside?” she asked forlornly.

“Yes. You must be strapped in your seat before we can drive there.”

“Why did Daddy lie?”

“To me or to you?”

“To me. I know you would be cross if you knew I had lots of treats and tell Daddy off because you are a mean Dad.”

“I’m not a...” Robbie took a deep breath. Explaining why too many sweet treats were not a good idea would confuse her again. “Daddy didn’t lie to you. He was playing a pretend game. Not a pretend food game like at nursery but pretending that what he gave you was a Mars Bar. You know that pretending, like stories, although they are not true, are not lies, don’t you Molly?”

“Like Rachel and Kirsty and the fairies and Jack Frost are not real, but they are sort of read in a story real? But I ate real chocolate sweeties!”

“Um, yes...No! The food was real. It’s more like when you and your ballet class pretend to be fairies or butterflies or something.”

“Cats. We pretend to be cats. We don’t turn into them. But we are really real.”

“Yeah, like that love. Daddy pretended what you ate were Mars Bars because you like the idea of them, because your friends can eat them, but you aren’t allowed them. I don’t know what Daddy gave you but it must be gluten and dairy free.”

“I don’t know what they are called. I thought they were special Mars Bars for special children like me. But even if they are I suppose they don’t turn into really real Mars Bars just like when I danced the Sugar Plum dance I didn’t really turn into a fairy.”

“Exactly!” Sometimes Molly’s grasp on things went way past three and a half and made his head spin.

“Or more like Daddy at church,” Molly said thoughtfully. “When we go and Daddy has the little white biscuits things he thinks it turns into Jesus, but it doesn’t, does it? That would be yukky!”

“I don’t think so, no, but,” Robbie lowered his voice, “I think Daddy really thinks it does, he isn’t pretending at all, or if he is it’s in a place in his brain where he doesn’t know he’s pretending.”

“I get like that too, when I get scared or cross. Part of my brain doesn’t know whet to do and the other bit just watches me shout and things. It’s like a bad thing comes out of me.”

Robbie sighed. He didn’t know what to say. Little Louise, that is, Lyn, and Ken had never been this complex at three, and nor was little Emma.

*

For the next hour, as James drove, the men were subjected to audio books of the Daisy Meadows Rainbow Fairies series read by Sophia Myles, but Molly still grew bored, listless, restless and then finally cried herself into a fitful sleep. This was just as well, as once they had left the M3 and M27 and on the road through the New Forest towards Bournemouth they hit the morning rush hour.

“I didn’t feed her them all the time, just sometimes when I was exhausted and she was driving me crazy,” James said. “You never gave me much support when you first retired, did you?” James hadn’t meant to sound resentful, but he did. “And then I had to go back to work part time after my first three months, didn’t I? Because you couldn’t cope! Put off my Inspector’s course again, stuck in tech bored out of my brain, still awake all night with her...”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m an old man, pet, and she’s exhausting.”

“Yes. She is. And sometimes you give into demands for chocolate and crisps because you are exhausted! Totally exhausted. Don’t you dare judge me!”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You always are!”

“I’m seriously not. Watch the bloody road love!”

“You act like you’re my father!”

“I really, seriously do not. I don’t shag my kids, for a start! I can’t believe you would think... Oh hell! Let’s stop this. We’re tired pet. Just tell me, what did you give her anyway?”

James huffed out an annoyed breath and then breathed in deeply, counting to ten in his head before answering, “Organica Vegan Chocolate Hazelnut Nougat bars. Try saying that to a two year old, Robbie.”

“Bloody hell! Mars Bars it is.”

“Not real Mars Bars?” Molly said.

“Thought you were asleep pet?”

“Spying. Bored.”

James glanced at Robbie before fixing his eyes on the road and saying, “I’m sorry Molly, they’re not really Mars Bars. Maybe you can think of another name for them?”

“Mars is in the sky, isn’t it Daddy? Like in my book. A Plan It.”

“Yes.”

“What are the other plan its?”

“You do know them Molly.”

“Tell me Daddy!”

“Well, there’s...”

“In order Daddy,” Molly demanded crossly.

“Mercury. Venus. Earth...”

“Us. Boring. And sounds like mud. I’m not eating mud.”

“Mars. Jupiter. Saturn. Uranus. Neptune.”

“What happened to Pluto?” Robbie asked.

“It got downgraded.”

“Poor old Pluto,” Robbie muttered.

“Poor old Pluto!” Molly copied. The phrase seemed to amuse her for a long time, all the way through Bournemouth and out along the coast road. It may have been called a coast road but they hardly got a glimpse of the sea until suddenly, turning a bend in the road after the dual-carriageway had given way to single lane traffic,

“Look look!!!” screamed Molly. “Is that the sea? It’s so big! Look!”

They pulled into a lay-by and stood over-looking the sea. Molly tried to climb the fence on the edge of the cliffs so they had to wrestle her back to the car. She screamed and arched her back and fought both fathers viciously, managing to scratch Robbie’s hand and bite James’.

*

After a long scream and an even longer sulk in which James and Robbie made plans to stop of and shop and the nearest big supermarket for food and any clothes that they needed as Molly hadn’t let them pack properly, Molly broke the silence.

“Hungry.”

“It’s not long since you had breakfast.”

“Hungry hungry hungry!”

“Alright!” Robbie snapped. He turned to James. “Any ideas Daddy?”

“We’ll buy something and have a picnic.”

“What, if hells’ name? With all her bloody restrictions?”

“Jak-ket pot-tay-to,” Molly said very carefully. “And baking beans.”

“That girl lives on beans.”

“Baking beans are the yummiest!”

“I was thinking of getting some Free From bread and ham and making some sandwiches, actually. But do you want a jacket potato Molly?”

“Jak-ket! Pot-tay-to! And baking beans! And hummus! And tuna!”

“You greedy gannet!” Robbie said, laughing.

“Alright,” James agreed. “Everyone look out for a takeaway or cafe by the sea.”

*

They sat on the beach, Robbie with fish and chips and James and Molly with jacket potatoes, drinking water and watching the sea. Molly had solemnly watched the waves from the edge a while but then decided she didn’t like it. Daddy paddled and tried to encourage her but she began to scream. She didn’t like the feel of the wet sand under her feet or the way the water washed backwards and forwards over the top of her feet. It made her feel funny.

She liked, however, the hot dry sand and the pebbles. And she was happy that Daddy had let her have tuna (no mayonnaise) and baked beans, but no hummus as the man in the food van thought it had milk in. Molly had got quite cross at first! Hummus was a safe food, what kind of horrid person put cow’s milk into it?

Dad got up and wandered down to the sea, taking off his trainers and socks and rolling up his jeans. Molly whispered to Daddy that he looked stupid.

“Yeah, I know,” Daddy whispered back. “Don’t tell him though Molly.”

“Why? It is the Truth,” Molly pronounced crossly.

“It’ll hurt his feelings. When something will hurt someone’s feelings you don’t tell them Molly.”

“The truth is the truth,” Molly grumbled, not really getting what feelings were and how you could hurt them with the truth. If you kicked ‘feelings’ surely that would hurt them more? 

James could tell Molly was building up to another frustration tantrum so distracted her with building rather low-rise sand castles with the polystyrene trays from their lunches. They were decorating them with shells and pebbles when Dad returned with a cup of tea for himself, one of coffee for Daddy and a lemonade ice-lolly all for her.

She skipped back to the car and fell asleep listening to Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty Suite.

“She’s sleeping a lot,” Robbie observed.

“I know. She won’t sleep tonight at all,” James agreed mournfully.

“Shall I pull up –” Robbie was driving again – “and we’ll have a nap?”

“Good plan,” James agreed, although he in fact sat under a tree in the car park and read while Robbie leant back the driver’s seat of the car and snored loudly while he slept.

*

“Why aren’t we there yet?” Molly grumbled once she was awake.

“Because we are not allowed to go to the caravan until four o’clock,” James explained to a confused looking Molly.

“But we’re still on holiday,” Robbie added quickly.

“And now we’re going shopping for things to eat on our holiday.”

“Marvellous,” muttered Dad winking at Molly. She grinned. Shopping with Daddy was so much better than just Dad.

*

Molly, however, either hated or loved shopping, depending on her mood. Mostly, when it came to boring supermarket shopping, she hated it. However, way back in the early hours of the morning, when she had been wide awake and her fathers had tried to pack, she had been so uncooperative, in fact once she had climbed into the suitcase like a puppy afraid of being left behind, James had thrown a few essentials into an over night bag and bundled her into the car. Robbie had complained he was pandering to her again but James, exhausted, had snapped at his husband. Which is why Robbie had taken the wheel. Now Molly was arching her back and screaming blue murder as Robbie tried to wrestle her into the toddler seat of the trolley.

“I’ll carry her.”

“No! You need to shop. I don’t know what we need!”

“I can shop carrying her, you know, I’ll...”

“Shut up James! And shut up Molly!”

Molly’s screaming grew louder and more aggressive. Robbie just grabbed hold of the trolley and pushed it into the store, while people rubbernecked at the violence of the tantrum. James shrugged and jogged after them, as Robbie was going at some speed, his anger and despair propelling him forward. Neither Lyn nor Mark had ever been like this, or he left Val to it, away from it all at work.

“Three days of meals, then,” James said as he came up to them, by the fruit and veg section. He stared picking up salad leaves, and tomatoes and a cucumber. Molly grabbed the cucumber and quietened down.

“More.”

“One is enough for three days, Molly.”

Molly bit into the cucumber, sharp milk teeth piercing the plastic wrap. She peeled it off and took a huge mouthful and then grinned triumphantly around it.

“Molly!” Robbie reproved.

Molly turned her head away from him.

James sighed and picked up a second cucumber. Robbie turned his reproving stare to his husband.

*

As they had packed in such a hurry and in difficulty, underwear and pyjamas were also needed. At the clothing section of the large store Molly demanded Princess pyjamas and matching knickers.

“They don’t have your size, Molly. See?” reasoned James.

“Can’t read!”

“You can read numbers.”

“Want it. Want it. Want it now!”

“Shut up, for God’s sake!” yelled a tired Robbie back. “You can’t have it.”

“I hate you!” Molly yelled.

James silently put the next size up into the trolley and selected Peppa Pig underwear and white ankle socks. He ignored the cloud of disapproval from Robbie and the chant of ‘hate you’ from Molly and wandered over to the men’s section, finding all he needed for both of them. He then took change of the trolley and pushed Molly away to the ‘health and beauty’ aisle. Robbie took a moment to calm himself down and when he found them Molly was yelling again.

“Want princess! Want princess!” She was demanding a battery operated electric toothbrush the shape of a princess that said 6+. James was trying to reason with her.

“You don’t like the noise. Dad and I had to get rid of ours, remember? And it says you have to be a big girl.”

“Am a big girl! Won’t brush my teeth. She’s my friend! She’s all alone!” The toothbrush was indeed the only one on the shelf, the store had a special on children’s electric toothbrushes.

“Molly, Daddy said no.”

“She’s my friend! She’s called Rose! She’s alone!” Molly yelled.

Robbie grabbed a two pack of adult brushes and a small one in pink, and then the toothpaste. He looked at James. “What else?”

“Everything else. Shaving stuff. Shower gel. Shampoo. Everything.” James was sounding a bit desperate now at Molly’s constant wailing and demanding.

When Robbie returned with an armful of toiletries Molly was hugging the princess shaped toothbrush. He picked it up and put it back on the shelf. Molly screeched as if she’d been murdered.

“Daddy said no.”

“Daddy said yes!” Molly screamed, reaching for it futilely from the trolley.

“Daddy shouldn’t have said yes. James, what were you thinking, it’s a bloody waste of money and she’s got to learn...”

“I hate you! You are the meanest Dad in the whole world! Daddy said yes and you can’t tell Daddy off! Why do you have to be so old and mean? Why can’t you go back to work and leave me and Daddy alone? Why did you make Daddy go to work instead of you? It was best with me and Daddy! I hate you!”

Molly had delivered this tirade of insight at full volume and everyone but everyone in earshot was now openly rubbernecking. After all, how many of them had seen gay parents, let alone ones with a loud, screaming child, to say nothing of the age gap. It was the best entertainment they were going to get that week in their sleepy Dorset town.

Molly was right; Robbie was old. He had been there, done that. Several times a week for five years Lyn had told him he was mean and she hated him, but they were fine now, he knew. Mark, however, had told him he hated him and disappeared to Australia, only to come back leaving this little bundle on his doorstep. But Molly wasn’t a hormonal teenager or a bereaved, confused young man. She was three. Did that mean she meant it? He was tired and he felt overwhelming, irrationally hurt. He turned tail and walked away.

“Robbie!” James called after him.

“Just finish the bloody shopping. I’ll be in the cafe with a cup of tea. Alright?”

*

It was over half an hour before James and Molly joined him. They had obviously put the shopping in the car as they were empty handed, Molly holding James’ hand and clutching the toothbrush, now out of the packaging. She climbed on to Robbie’s lap.

“Sorry Dad.” This was ruined somewhat by Molly looking at James, who nodded approvingly. Still, what did he want, miracles. He hugged her tightly.

“Sorry too princess. I’m a bit tired.”

“Coz you’re old?”

“Must be,” Robbie agreed mildly. “Do you want a drink? Daddy can get you one of those caramel babychinos that you love. Then we can go to the caravan, as it’s gone four. Yes?” He looked up at James. James smiled and went over to the counter. “Another pot of tea for me pet,” he called after him.


End file.
